


Survivors

by Jinxgirl



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Comics), Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, takes place after season seven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 09:28:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14234304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jinxgirl/pseuds/Jinxgirl
Summary: When the Watchers/Slayers headquarters is wiped out by a devastating airborne virus spread by an extremist bombing, Faith is one of the only two survivors. Warning: Character deaths, violence.





	1. Chapter 1

Survivors

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Author notes: This is actually based on a very vivid dream I had recently (the last chapter is, anyway). It will only be a few chapters long, probably only 2-3.

It wasn't the end of the world, in a literal sense. The majority of humans' daily lives remained unaffected, and most had not even so much as heard of the loss. It wasn't the literal end of the world…so far. But it was the end of Faith's world…and to her, there was little difference between the two.

If Faith had been asked to choose who would be the last standing of the Scooby gang of Sunnydale and the Fang gang of LA, she would never have selected herself to be among them. She'd had too many close calls, too many incidents of disregard for her own life, had less than other to keep her invested in a long-range survival. Even before becoming a Slayer, Faith had never expected to live past thirty; once she was called, her life expectancy dropped to lower than twenty. She had always envisioned herself going down in a furious battle of good versus evil, giving back as good as she got, though she hadn't always been sure which side of the battle she would be fighting for. But however hard she fought, at some point, she would fall, and Buffy, as usual, would take the lead.

She would never have named herself a final survivor, and she certainly wouldn't have named Giles. But here they stood, the last of the Scoobies, though Faith had never really been one of them in full…the last of the Fang Gang, though she had never been truly one of them either. The last of those who were aware of and battling the unseen evil of the world and those beyond it…the last with the true knowledge of what Sunnydale was, and the memories of how it had been.

Faith was the last of the Slayers, the only one left alive. And she would have given anything, gladly surrendered this survival, just to let Buffy take over the imaginary throne…to let Buffy take her place.

And though he never said so, would never imply it in any way, she suspected that Giles harbored an identical desire. That when he looked even briefly into her eyes, he saw not hers, but those of three dozen dying Slayers, bright with pain as they pleaded for comfort in the wake of their slowly approaching deaths. That when he saw her, he could not help but wonder why they alone…why Faith, of all the Slayers…was spared, while all others suffered, one by one.

Faith may have been spared her life, but she, unlike the others, continued to suffer. Each day was a struggle to survive, not because of direct physical threats, but because of the effort it often took simply to continue to breathe.

She was the last of the Slayers. But her survival did not seem to Faith an act of sparing, so much as a different type of condemnation.

Faith would never have thought it possible for the end of Slayers to be brought about by the hands of humans. But raw strength and power was not everything, and in the grand scheme of things, ultimately meant nothing in the face of paranoia, ignorance, and fear residing in humans with advanced technological skills and a calculating plan of actions against their chosen targets: slayers, witched, and all other beings of supernatural powers. Unfortunately, rather than targeting demons and soulless vampires, a goal that would better the world and lessen Faith's and the others' workload, the chosen targets had been the newly formed Watcher/Slayer headquarters…home of 35 slayers from varying origins, including Buffy, Faith, Kennedy, Vi, and Rona, 15 Watchers and Watchers in training, including Giles, Dawn, Willow, Xander, and others who worked with them closely, including Angel, Spike, and Illyria, the only survivors of LA's final battle.

It had been just over a year since Giles had used his somewhat illegally obtained funds from the former Watcher's Council to build a new and improved foundation based much more heavily upon the needs of the newly called Slayers and training new Watchers. Slayers could elect to board there or to come in for lessons and training as they would to school, and the majority elected to stay.

In a year's time, they had really been pulling together as a school, a team…and really, as an extended family of sorts. As co-head Slayer, along with Buffy, Faith had been beginning to enjoy her role as a teacher and tactical leader of the newer Slayers, finding it very ironic and amusing how they looked at her as a role model…but also kind of touching. Like she wanted to prove to them that she could be. She had just been starting to enjoy herself, to really feel at home, like she finally had a place and a purpose. Hell, she was even getting along with ANDREW most of the time…and for once in their entire very screwy history with each other, she and Buffy were becoming friends. No…not just friends, she and Buffy had finally managed to resolve, mature, and FORGIVE enough to become not just friends…family.

Of course, everyone had their issues and tensions, because nothing was ever perfect- and if it ever got to that point, Faith could be damn sure it was due to some spell of Willow's going wrong as they did every few months or so. But it was as close as Faith had ever experienced, and she had been happy. They all had been.

Until three young women, who they had figured out in retrospect were only posing as Slayers, came to check the place out and received a full tour, before each never returned again, all within a few days of each other…until each returned in the night, from what they were able to piece together, and set up the powerfully deadly bombs that had been set off to a massively destructive effect the following morning. Until their public statement of motive on the hijacked private Watcher station, proclaiming the righteousness of their actions, their "greater affiliation and unity" with others from "the four corners of the earth," and their intention to continue "if made necessary."

Until then.

The damages wreaked by the bombs were devastating in and of themselves. Of the 42 people living in the Watcher/Slayer headquarters, 22 were killed outright in the explosion, and 7 were critically injured. Some, like Willow and Kennedy, were in close range of the planted bombs and died immediately; others, like Andrew and Vi, suffered longer, agonizing deaths, injured by falling walls or buried under rubble before help could arrive. The roof was blown off the building's walls, an entire wall collapsing in on itself- and as a result, both Angel and Spike, exposed to sunlight but trapped by the destruction around them from seeking shelter, had been killed as well.

The bombing, and the massive loss of lives and safe shelter, had been terrible and crushing enough on its own- more so because the identities and extent of all responsible could not be known, and the media and law actively avoided pursuing its culprits. But then the virus started, and the hell they were facing stepped it up to new levels of horror.

When it first began, about two days after the bombing, everyone thought it was a normal bug, intensified by grief and stress. It was only Xander and Rona, at first, and everyone assumed…everyone had been SURE…that it would run its course, like any other illness. That they would get better, and eventually, somehow, they would manage to get through the terrible aftermath of the deaths.

But Xander and Rona did not get better; in fact, with every passing day they suffered more, and soon everyone around them was falling ill as well. And within a week's time, everyone knew…the deaths had only just begun with the bombing.

The illness seemed slight at first- hardly more than a bad case of the flu. Chills, fever, runny eyes and nose, vomiting, headaches…but then the symptoms progressed so dramatically and with such intensity that the sick were in constant anguish, spasming in pain and delirium. By the end they were clawing at their own skin, while they still had the strength to do so, coughing up black bile mingled with blood, and bleeding from every orifice of their bodies. It was a slow, terrible, agonizing death, and nothing anyone did seemed to lessen their agony…nothing they could think of could provide a cure.

Within two weeks, eight more people were dead, and all others remaining of those who had not fled, in a likely vain attempt to outrun the infection, were ill…all, except for Faith and Giles. It had been Giles's estimate that something in their individual physiological makeups must cause them to be immune to the virus, and their continued health in the face of all others' suffering did not disprove him. Some might have called their immunity a blessing. For Faith and Giles, remaining physically well in the face of their dying peers was merely an alternate hell from the one the inflicted were enduring.

Over the three weeks it took for all the afflicted's suffering to finally come to an end, Giles shared with Faith, in a rare moment of rest, that he was nearly certain that the virus's origin was from the bombing. He believed that the bomb's interiors must have contained something similar to anthrax, designed to reproduce itself in oxygen and spread rapidly into the air to enter one's bloodstream. As with his estimation of Faith's and his own immunity, there was no evidence to disprove him, nor did Faith have any desire to. She didn't care what was making everyone so sick. All she cared about was finding a way to make it stop, and finding and killing whoever was responsible for their pain.

But by the end of nine days, neither was possible. No doctor seemed to have a clue what to do or how to help- and since every doctor that braved entering the still-dilapidated building fell ill as well, soon no others dared approach. With so many ill and needing tending to, Faith and Giles had very little time to so much as eat, sleep, or shower, let alone research any possible means of reversing the illness, or wasting time looking for those responsible, who would very likely have no means for a cure even if they tortured them to the point of death with Willow deceased and no other known people skilled in magic or witchcraft at their disposal, it was all Faith and Giles could do to run from bedside to bedside, trying in vain to keep the ill clean, comforted, and hydrated, to do all possible to ease their pain in their prolonged deaths.

In this time, Faith could barely eat, could not sleep for more than an hour or two at a time. She was so stressed and anxious that the smallest sound made her jump, and when she wasn't moving, her legs trembled with weariness, barely holding her up. Every time she closed her eyes, she still saw the torment on their faces, smelled the slowly rotting scent of their skin, mingled with the bitter odor of their blood. Her pulse remained unceasingly high, no matter how gently and calmly she spoke to the afflicted, and no matter how far from them she removed herself, their cries of anguish echoed in her ears. Looking at Giles, at the haggardness of his features, the darkness blanking his eyes, at the way the clothes he wore for days at a time sagged on his frame with the weight he had lost, wrinkled and stained, was like looking at a reflection of how she herself must appear, and Faith always shifted her eyes away. There was a constant pressure constricting her heart, tightening in her chest, but until the very end, Faith could not have release through tears.

Buffy was the last to become ill, and until the end of the second week she had been right there with Faith and Giles, helping them care for the others. For a time they had hoped she too was immune…but then she too had become ill. And as the others died all around them, one by one, day by day, eventually only Buffy remained. Buffy had died twice before…somehow, it seemed morbidly fitting that she would be the last to go now.

Faith had been through hell on countless occasions. But the day that Buffy died for a final time, breathing her last in her arms, was unquestionably the darkest moment of her lifetime.

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"Why…why is it so dark?"

Beneath the thin sheets of her bed, Buffy twitched, her jaw grimacing involuntarily, and let out a pained moan as another harsh spasm rolled down the length of her spine. She was sweating heavily, but her face was almost drained of all color, her skin clammy to the touch. Faith wanted to wrap her in blankets to try to still her shaking, to keep her warm, but all the blankets were so badly stained they were beyond use, and they had had no opportunity to wash them…and try as she might to keep Buffy clean and comfortable, her illness had progressed to the point that it was impossible. All Faith could do was be there with her in her final moments, to make sure that her last living sister Slayer, the other half of the original Chosen Two, would not be alone in her suffering for a single moment of it.

Buffy Summers was dying…Faith had witnessed the signs enough by now to know when death wasn't far away. And the worst of it all, was there was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. In the face of natural deaths, even ones caused by unnatural interference, she was entirely useless, entirely helpless.

And she had never hated herself for her inadequacy so much in her life.

"Dark," Buffy repeated fretfully, her voice hoarse, as another sharp spasm came over her, her breath coming in rattling, effortful gasps, her sunken chest rising and falling sharply.

Her once bright eyes were dull, glazed with feverish pain and confusion, and her hair hung in damp, limp tendrils around her sharply defined cheekbones, the dark roots greasy. Blood trickled out the corner of her eyes, one side of her nose, down the base of her neck from ear, and when she tried to take deep breaths, little flecks of blood spilled over her nearly white lips. Her pain was stark and terrible to see, and standing beside her in her bed, tightly gripping her hand in a hopeless effort to provide comfort and support, Faith had to force herself not to look away, not to run screaming from the room, beating and kicking down every remaining wall of the place in furious protest against the cruelty of what she was witnessing.

She didn't want Buffy to die. But she could hardly endure watching her suffer for any longer. Physically well she might be, but staying by her side, Faith felt like something deep inside her was dying too.

"It's…it's night time, is all," Faith told her softly as she stroked Buffy's sweaty hair back from her face with her free hand, then wiped her face carefully with the end of the sheet, trying to clean it of the blood still emerging, slow but steady, from each of her body's openings.

The room was actually brightly lit by several lamps, and it was the middle of the day, but there was no need to worry Buffy about her failing eyesight…not this close to the end.

"Don't worry, B…it's just night, that's all…"

"Have to…fight," Buffy rasped, more dark blood slipping past her lips, and she coughed, her entire body tensing and then shuddering with the pain this brought her, her weak grip on Faith's hand tightening briefly before growing limp again. "Things…out there…h-have to…"

"No you don't, I've got it covered," Faith reassured her as calmly as she could, even as her heart pounded wildly, her throat choking over so much it was hard to form words.

She found herself thinking distantly that at least one good thing existed about Buffy's failing vision…it meant she couldn't see the fear and emotion that Faith was certain must be starkly obvious in her eyes.

"You don't have to worry about anything," Faith continued in her effort to soothe, and she noticed that her hand was shaking as she kept combing her fingers through the tangles of Buffy's hair. She swallowed hard, briefly closing her eyes as she stilled her hand, fiercely forcing herself to regain control. "It's…it's all taken care of…you just try to rest, okay."

But Buffy didn't seem to hear her, or maybe she didn't understand. She coughed again, weaker this time, barely able to draw breath to do so, and as more blood dripped from lips, nose, and eyes, Faith gritted her teeth so harshly she heard them grinding as she carefully wiped the other woman's face again, not releasing her hand at the same time. Her stomach flipped sickeningly, and though it was illogical, she was furious at Giles. When the FUCK was he going to get back?

It had been less than an hour ago that he had left to get food, clean clothes, and sheets for Buffy, and the strongest painkillers he could find, anything that might help to ease her agony even slightly. With only Buffy left to care for, she and Giles had worked in shifts, attempting to give the other occasional respite to sleep, eat, or shower, but as neither could do so or felt like leaving Buffy's side, it hadn't been working out so well unless they outright left the building. Faith had been the one to insist Giles go; when he had left, Buffy had either been sleeping or unconscious, but not in immediate need of care of in intense pain, as far as they could tell. Giles had promised he would be back as quickly as possible, and Faith had assumed it was okay for him to go, that Buffy's death was probably still a day or two away.

But Buffy had awakened not ten minutes after Giles had left, vomiting black bile and crying tears of blood, and Faith had known immediately she had been mistaken. Buffy could die at any moment, and Giles would not be there. And she was the one who had told him to go.

Still, what the FUCK was taking him so long, what the FUCK was he doing? Couldn't he just SENSE something was wrong, couldn't he just come BACK already, couldn't he HELP, didn't he want to BE there before Buffy was gone, before there was nothing else that could be done?

"X-Xander," Buffy sputtered, her eyes blinking rapidly, her body twisting back and forth on the bed, as though in effort to squeeze her pain out of her through movement, or perhaps her nerves were beginning to deteriorate and react with involuntary movements. Faith had no idea, and didn't care much beyond that it was obvious that the woman was in pain. "he can't…he-he'll trip…d-dark…Willow, make her…m-make a light…so…"

"Shh," Faith replied, squeezing her hand gently, every muscle held so tensely a dull ache began to settle over her entire form. "I'll tell her…he, he'll be okay…I'll…"

She was going to fucking kill Giles for leaving Buffy like this. If he didn't walk through the door in three seconds, she was going to break his nose and possibly much more sensitive parts of his anatomy. If he didn't-

"Sp-spike…" Buffy gasped, the word difficult for her to form, her face turned slightly towards Faith's, but unseeing; she seemed totally unaware of who she was addressing as she tried to make herself understood, her chest rising and falling sharply. "D-don't let…hurt…Sp-spike…An-angel…Angel…I…they…"

"Okay," Faith tried, talking over her, her fingers once more gently attempting to comb through Buffy's hair. A large handful came out in her hand, clinging to Faith's fingers, and she suppressed a shudder, wiping her hand quickly on her pants before resuming her touching. God, she hated, fucking HATED how Buffy's eyes looked not at her, but through her, not seeing her at all…"Okay, no one will hurt them, Buffy, I swear. And they won't hurt anyone else either, okay? It's okay. It's okay…"

But it wasn't okay. It was so far from okay that Faith couldn't even begin to imagine what okay must look or feel like anymore, and the very hollow untruth of her words made her want to scream.

"Help…them…help…Angel…sword…and I'm not…cookies…I n-need…he…"

"I'll…help him…he has a sword, it's okay," Faith managed, but she heard the strain in her tone now as she wiped Buffy's face again, hating the terrible contrast of dark blood against ashen, sickly flesh. "I'll…I'll get you some cookies soon, okay? Whatever you want. You just hang on, and I'll get you…whatever you want…"

She didn't have a clue what Buffy was trying to say, if there was actual coherent meaning behind any of it, or if she was just babbling or hallucinating. Most had, in the end, if they were strong enough to be able to speak at all. For Buffy to have held on for this long, to be able to continue forming understandable words even in the face of her approaching death and present suffering, was amazing, a testament to her unusual strength, even when compared to other Slayers.

And it was absolute torture for Faith, every bit as it must be for Buffy, to watch her, the first of her sister Slayers, the last as well, to come closer with every struggling breath to joining the others.

"Giles," Buffy was whispering now, so softly and slurred that Faith leaned closer unconsciously, squeezing her hand harder as Buffy shuddered, her voice rising into a harsh cry. "Giles, Giles, GILES…"

"He's coming, he'll be back soon," Faith said hurriedly, her pulse speeding still faster, the anger heating her veins burning that much hotter at Buffy's call. Where the hell was he, where WAS he, she fucking wanted him and he wasn't HERE!

A tiny part of her, a part that Faith refused to openly acknowledge and hated with fierce disgust, nevertheless twisted in bitter unvoiced jealousy as well…because it was she, Faith, who was by Buffy's side, who had been there all along and would remain there until the very end. And yet still, it was not she who was wanted, no matter what she did, in the end. Still, she was not even a thought in Buffy's mind, at her deepest level of subconscious. If Faith had ever admitted this to herself on a conscious level, though…if she had ever dared to speak it out loud…she would hate herself so much for it she would want to kill herself.

As it was, it was a pretty close call.

"Giles is coming, I promise," she tried again, but Buffy was moving on now, her eyes suddenly widening with panic as she feebly tried and was unable to sit up. As Faith put her hand on her shoulder, not wanting her to bring herself more pain, Buffy shrugged weakly, trying to push her away as her voice rose louder than ever, shrill with fear.

"DAWN! DAWN! Dawn- Dawn- Dawn-"

She started to cough hard, choking, blood spilling in long strands from her mouth, dripping from her nose and eyes. Faith slipped an arm around her shoulders, trying to support her trembling form, to keep her upright to lessen her choking, her stomach twisting horribly as Buffy half sobbed through tapering coughs.

"Dawn…D-Dawn….h-have to…red…"

"She- she's okay," Faith said shakily, now sitting on the edge of the bed with Buffy, her arm tight around her heaving shoulders as Buffy gasped for breath, a terrible wet rattling sounding deep in her chest. She found herself rocking them unconsciously, as though Buffy were a young child in need of simple comfort. "She's…Buffy, she's okay…"

She tried not to think of the way Dawn had looked at her as she died, the way she had scrabbled at her own face and arms, begging to be made real…and she too had called for Buffy. She was still pushing this aside, or trying the best she could to do so, when Buffy spoke again, her voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"Dawn…Dawn…" she struggled for breath, her head drooping forward, as though suddenly too heavy for her to hold. And then she whispered in a voice so young and wistful that Faith froze, her eyes suddenly burning with the emotion searing through her.

"M-Mom…Mom…M-Mommy…"

Until that moment, Faith had been able to focus on her anger at Giles, at the specific actions that she was doing. Wiping Buffy's face, pushing back her hair, keeping her upright, answering her words…it had all kept her somewhat controlled, somewhat able to get through this, second by agonizing second. But when Buffy called for her deceased mother in the voice of a frightened child, shivering hard under the circle of Faith's arm, it was all she could do not to break down into tears.

She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth fiercely, and breathed in, not responding to Buffy's words as she willed the threatening tears away. Even so she could hear Buffy still whispering, her voice progressively choked as more blood came up, and in that moment, Faith made a decision, even as something inside her hurt so badly that she truly did feel as if some vital part of her was breaking.

"I'm…I'm right here, Buffy…honey," she said, and though her voice shook at first, she hurriedly firmed it, forcing herself to sound calm, soothing, sweet…wracking her brain for what Joyce Summers might have done, what Joyce Summers might have said. "I'm right here…baby. Mom…Mommy's right here."

Buffy turned her head towards her slowly, brow furrowed, lips parted as she reached a shaking hand towards Faith's face, missing entirely and bumping her fingers into her forehead, then across the side of her hair. Though her eyes were turned towards her, Faith knew she couldn't see…and for the second time, she was glad.

"M-Mom? Mommy…Mom…"

"I'm right here, honey," Faith repeated, closing her eyes, unable the stand the hope, the NEED strongly crossing the other woman's features, her near disbelief at receiving what she thought was her mother's presence and comfort. "I'm right here…Mom…Mommy's right here. I…won't leave, I'm right here."

"It…hurts," Buffy gasped, as another prolonged shudder rolled through her, and she doubled over in spite of Faith's protective arm, bloody tears slowly trickling down her cheeks. "M-Mom…it…hurts…"

"I…I know it does, baby," Faith almost whispered, eyes tightly shut, using every bit of concentration remaining in her just to keep herself from beginning to cry, scream, or shut down completely from all outside stimulation. "I know…I'm sorry."

But at Buffy's next words, uneven and jagged in tone as she forced them out through full body shuddering, Faith could no longer entirely keep a rein on her emotions.

"M-mom…I don't…I d-don't want to die.. again…"

Before she could stop them, scalding tears were bursting forth from Faith's eyes and a choked sob escaped her lips. She couldn't answer; no words would emerge even within her thoughts. She sat unmoving, arm clamped rigidly around Buffy's hunched shoulders, and felt tears continue to run silently into the sides of her hair as Buffy spoke again, seeking further reassurances.

"Mom…Mom…"

"I'm here," Faith choked out, hearing the tears in her voice and biting down on the inside of her cheeks until she tasted blood. "I'm right here, honey. I'm right here."

After this, Buffy did not speak again. She began to shake once more, so hard she could not sit up, could not catch her breath, her blood flowing heavier and more steadily from every opening in her face. Desperate to try to support her, to provide her as much comfort as possible, Faith pulled her into her lap and held her arms tight around her, heedless of the blood spattering her arms, the blood soaking into her jeans through Buffy's nightgown where her bony form touched Faith's legs. She wrapped Buffy tight in her arms, trying to stop her shaking, trying to let her know that she was still there, that she wasn't letting go…that she would never let go, as long as she had a choice in the matter. She held her, as Buffy's shaking slowed, then stopped, and as Buffy went limp against her, gradually Faith's silent streaming tears stopped, and her eyes opened, hot, dry, and blank.

It was to this that Giles returned to, less than ten minutes after Buffy had drawn her final breath. Almost ten minutes later, Faith remained motionless on the bed, Buffy's still, bloodstained form held stiffly in her arms. As his eyes met hers, his emotion choking off any words that may have come, she slowly turned her face away, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

She was the last of the Slayers. But to Faith, it felt like the last of all humans walking the face of the earth.


	2. 2

Chapter 2

Time had passed slowly, so agonizingly slow in the last moments of Buffy's life; once she was gone, it seemed meaningless, events falling into place with numb efficiency that seemed to happen almost too fast for Faith to process. Within a few days' time, arrangements had been made to care for Buffy's remains, and then even that much of her was gone. There was no public funeral, or even a private one; there would have been only two people in all the world to mourn her, and besides, Giles had believed it best if they drew no attention to his and Faith's continued survival. If those responsible for the deaths learned that Faith and Giles remained, it would be likely that they would strike against them again. Faith's life held little meaning to her anymore, but this did not mean that she was willing to let ignorant murderers take it away from her.

Faith knew she should be tracking down every person who had been involved in the bombings, every person who had had anything to do with all the deaths…every person who had had any hand in the destruction of her universe. She should be hurting them within an inch of their lives, if not killing them outright. She should be handing them over to the police to be put in prison, where she had once resided. She should be dragging them back into the remains of the headquarters and exposing them to what remnants of the virus remained, forcing them to suffer the same fate they had condemned all her friends…the closest thing she had to family…to.

She should be doing something, anything to get them back, to make them pay for what they had done. But every time she thought of all the suffering faces and writhing forms of each person she had witnessed die, Faith could not summon up the rage she knew she should feel, the rage that she would need to take down their murderers. Instead, she felt pain so sharp and paralyzing she could form few logical thoughts at all, let alone a plan of action and vengeance to carry out.

She had not patrolled since the illnesses began, nor did she have any desire to now. Every time she thought of vampires, she thought of blood, and every time she thought of blood, dozens of dying faces, dripping blood from every facial opening, sprang forward into her thoughts. For the first time in her life, Faith could not tolerate the thought of death, even if she was its cause. And though she and Giles spoke little in the aftermath of Buffy's death, could hardly even look at each other, she was sure without him having to say so that he felt the same way.

With only one Slayer and one Watcher alive, both no longer interested in performing their destined duties, though neither said so, they both knew this likely rendered the future of the world and its likelihood of being saved from any approaching apocalypses to be very bleak indeed. But if both were to be honest, neither much cared. In fact, in the darkest part of her unspoken thoughts, Faith sometimes wished it would just happen, already, and be done with.

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It wasn't long, however, until Giles had a plan. Faith should have known he wasn't one to go long without one. Whatever tragedy struck, Giles was always so damn PLANNED, even if everyone knew from the start his plan would fail.

He had knocked on her door two evenings after Buffy's burial; they had remained in the remains of the headquarters after partly in a continued effort not to be spotted out in public too often, and partly because in Faith's case, she just couldn't bring herself to leave. She had left the wing where they had quarantined the ill the moment Giles had gently taken Buffy's body from her arms and never set foot near it again, not even to clean the mess that had been left behind. She suspected that Giles had done it for her, for as long as he had been missing that night, but she had not sought him out, and she had not asked.

There had been other matters on her mind.

When Faith had opened her door for him slowly, not stepping aside to let him in, Giles had told her awkwardly and with stiffness and distance clear on his expression and in his tone that he would be returning to England, that he had booked a flight for the following evening. He had hardly looked her in the eye as he spoke, or even turned a face in her direction, and Faith had not tried to make him. He didn't tell her what he would do once back in England or where he would go, and she didn't ask. Nor did she volunteer her own plans, for what she would do with herself, when Giles was gone. For one thing, she didn't know herself…and for another, Giles did not ask her.

She could have asked him why, she guessed. She could have asked him if she could join him. She could have asked him if he would stay. But Faith Lehane was never one to do any of this, to volunteer any sort of need or uncertainty, regardless of how strongly it might exist. So instead she nodded. She told him okay. And then, she shut the door.

She truly was alone now.

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"Well," Giles said awkwardly, shifting his weight and adjusting his grip on the large suitcase in his hand as he stood before Faith in the doorway of her bedroom. "It appears to be very nice out today…I suppose it is good weather for flying at any rate."

His eyes shifted towards her quickly, but Faith did not reply, nor did she rise from where she sat at the desk in the room's corner to draw closer to him. She didn't want him to be closer to her. If he was going to leave…well, then, she just wanted him to GO, already. To just do it, instead of doing what he thought was the "right thing" of a proper goodbye.

When Faith gave no verbal response to his statement, Giles shifted his weight uneasily, glancing down at his watch, then raised his eyes back to Faith's face again, attempting to meet her eyes. Faith did not make this easy for him; in fact, she turned her face in such a manner that he could only partly see her profile, and she told herself that she wasn't doing this for any specific reason. She didn't have anything about her eyes or expression she didn't want Giles to see- she didn't care that much. She just didn't want to drag this out into something so serious when she didn't give a shit what he chose to do or where he chose to go, or even if she ever heard from him again or not, that was all. She was avoiding dramatics.

She didn't care what he did. She wasn't sad or upset or angry, or any of the rest. She just didn't care.

That was what she kept telling herself over and over, hoping if she thought it often and insistently enough, it would become a natural idea linked to a natural and genuine feeling.

She refused to admit to herself that so far, if the tightness of her chest, the rapid pulsing of her heartbeat, and the constriction in her throat was anything to go by, it wasn't working. In fact, the more times she thought it, the harder it was to accept it as truth.

"So…will you stay in the Cleveland area then?" Giles tried, clearing his throat, and Faith shrugged, careful to keep her face averted, her voice careless as she responded, stretching her arms.

"Dunno."

"Well…have you looked into other places?" Giles pressed, one hand absently touching and then rubbing the frame of his glasses. "Other cities…I don't suppose you have family outside- but…well, at least other dwellings here. Apartments…town homes…I can't imagine that you wish to remain here, even if it were fully…repaired."

It would take more than "repairs" to make the Watcher/Slayer headquarters an acceptable permanent address. In the first week they had hired workers to begin repairing the roof, and collapsed wall, and they had only partly finished when the illness began and all outsiders began to refuse to set foot inside. For the building to even begin to approach being livable beyond in emergency circumstances, it would need not just simple repairs, but reconstruction, refurbishing, repainting, and redesigning…but most of all, beyond anything physical they could do to it, even beyond throwing away stained pillows, sheets, and mattresses, scrubbing the floors, and destroying the beds where so many had breathed their last, they would have to find a way to erase the vivid memories of broken bodies, crushed under piles of rubble, of agonized faces streaming blood as sickly bodies writhed in their slow suffering.

All of this would have to be wiped clean too, and nothing they did to rebuild the place could do that. But then it, didn't really matter what they did to the place or how it physically changed, or if it stayed exactly the same as it was not. It didn't matter if Faith stayed or ran far away, because everywhere she went, all the building's memories remained deeply burned into her mind.

"Nope," she said shortly in response to Giles's inquiry, steepling her fingertips on the desktop and staring at the wall before her.

She was wearing a light but baggy navy hoody and considered pulling its hood up, to block out completely his face from her view, but decided this would show too much some evidence of feeling some way other than apathy, and so she remained still, eyes fixed steadily on the wall.

She couldn't see Giles, but she knew his brow was likely furrowing in reluctant guilt and concern, that he was likely blinking through his glasses, still unconsciously touching their frames torn between his desire to head out for his flight and his nagging sense of obligation, or at least some limp token show of obligation towards Faith, however weak and slight it might be. She suspected strongly that it wasn't that he wanted genuine solutions for her, or to make sure they occurred, so much as he wanted to make some sort of gesture towards doing so, in order to pacify his guilt.

And this suspicion sent a sudden surge of anger through Faith so intensely it was all she could do to keep from clinching her fists.

"Well," Giles said awkwardly, clearing his throat again, and it sounded to Faith like he had taken one step forward, but remained in the open doorway of the room. "I, I'm sure there are many dwellings that would suit your needs here. You could start by looking online…and if you were to need any extra money, or-"

"Giles," Faith interrupted tightly, her teeth clinched, eyes narrowing as she pressed the palms of her hands down flat on the desktop. "Just go, alright? Just…go."

She could feel him regarding her now, processing the borderline hostility of her tone. She stared at the all, fierce and unblinking, until her eyes grew hot and she couldn't really see at all. She waited as Giles struggled between his own personal desire and his conscience, and when finally his desire seemed to win out, her shoulders relaxed slightly, even as the heat lingered behind her eyes and her stomach twisted.

"Well…I suppose I do need to be going, if I'm to catch my plane on time…" Giles said slowly, exhaling audibly, and Faith tried to lighten her tone to something more casual this time as she replied, deliberately relaxing her posture further and flexing her hands.

"Yep. Suppose so," she replied, but still her eyes did not shift in Giles's direction.

A silence grew between them; Faith hoped this was the end of it, that Giles would simply take off and stop trying, stop delaying what they both knew to be inevitable. But then he was speaking up suddenly, his voice a little rushed, as if to attempt to get the words out and apart from his thoughts as was possible.

"Faith- it's not too late- you've been to England before, if you were to decide-"

"No," she said flatly, and the decision was bred not only from her own lack of a desire to join him in England but also from what she was certain his own. "No."

Silence again; every second in which no one spoke seemed an hour, and yet each was over too soon, taking them that much closer to Giles's walking out the door.

"Well," he said finally, clearing his throat yet again. If Faith were to look, she suspected, he might be cleaning his glasses as well, or at least she suspected he had an urge to. "Well, you have my number, Faith…and I, I'll send you my address. If you are…if you should need anything-"

"Yeah," she cut him off, irritated by the roughness of her tone, by what she knew to be more than impatience or anger behind it. "Yeah, I know."

They both knew she would never write, never call. But if was what he needed to say to make himself feel better, to get this fucking OVER, she would agree to whatever the hell he wanted, or at least pretend to.

"Well," Giles repeated, the strain evident in his tone, making clear to Faith how badly he wished to do exactly what inside her own mind, she was almost screaming for to occur. "Take care of yourself, Faith."

But even with the tension in his tone, and his obvious desire to leave, he wasn't yet out the door…and Faith could hear the continued hesitation in his tone, could feel his eyes still on her even as he opened the door. It wasn't that he truly wanted her to come. It was that he wanted reassurance from her that it was fine that he did not. He wanted, Faith knew, for her to turn, look him in the eye, and smile, telling him that what he was doing- where he was going- what he was leaving behind was right. He wouldn't care if it was a lie; as long as he had a surface gesture to grab onto, he could lie to himself just as well as any.

But Faith could look at him only briefly, less than a full second, before turning her eyes back to the wall, and she could only smile with eyes as hard and insincere as stones.

"Yeah…you too," she replied, and when Giles told her goodbye in a voice as quiet and solemn as a prayer, all she could say in response was "Yeah."

She did not turn her head as Giles stepped through the doorway; she did not dare to look to see the absence of his presence. But the room's sudden emptiness fell over her like a heavy, suffocating blanket of pain; she could almost physically feel the unoccupied space all around her, and it was too much, too PRESENT in his absence.

She truly was alone now.


	3. 3

Chapter 3

Faith tried not to blink, not to soften her fierce stare; if she were to close her eyes, to weaken her focus even for a moment, she was sure the heat so strongly building in her gaze would escape in the form of tears. Even now she could feel them rising thickly in her throat, covering over her thudding heart until she felt nauseous with her effort to keep them back. Her flattened palms slowly curled into fists until she could feel her nails digging into her skin, her jaw clinched until sharp pain shot through her throat, and her shoulders drew together so tautly that Faith's back began to ache…and as she practiced this fierce self control, anger mingled with her grief and nearly overpowered it until she felt as though if she did not make some sort of gesture soon, she would literally burst through herself, whether in a frenzy of destructive actions, or in uncontrollable tears.

Take care of yourself, he had said. Like anyone would notice- like anyone would care anymore- like anyone would be affected in any way by what she did or didn't do, especially when it came to her own self.

The absolute silence of the room seemed to amplify until it nearly pulsed in Faith's ears, as loud as any noise she could imagine. She had thought it horribly, conspicuously quiet in the few days after Buffy's death; the lack of multiple voices moaning and weeping in agony, calling for loved ones and babbling in delirium, as terrible as they had been, and as much as it hurt to hear them replaying in her mind, was nearly matched in awfulness by the subsequent silence, because all the silence meant was that none of them could ever make any sort of noise again. With only she and Giles remaining, both barely speaking, she had though it horribly, almost unbearably quiet.

But this now, this quiet with only the sound of her own heightened heartbeat, her own staggered breathing to pierce it at all…this quiet already seemed beyond what Faith could endure.

She was starting to push back from her chair in a sudden jerky motion, intending to leave the room, to somehow evade the silence it had held, when a sudden noise in the doorway stopped her. Freezing, Faith glanced quickly towards the door, her pulse speeding faster, and had barely returned to her seat at the desk when Giles's head reappeared in the room, then half of the rest of him as he called to her with continued awkwardness.

"Faith…I will call you when I arrive."

She meant to shrug carelessly, to tell him "all right" in the most casual and unconcerned way she could manage. She meant to give him an easy, if insincere, smile, to not let him know for even a second how difficult it had been just to breathe in the single minute he had been gone. But when she tried to turn her head, she found she couldn't move. And when she opened her mouth, to her horror, it was not words that emerged, but rather a clearly audible and recognizable sob.

Furious, shocked, and mortified at her own betrayal of herself, Faith pressed her lips together tightly, refusing to let another break forth, and fixed her fierce unblinking stare at the wall again, raging at herself with little coherency in her thoughts. But no matter how closely she pressed her lips together, no matter what she screamed at herself inwardly, she could feel the tears standing more insistently than ever in her eyes, and she was terrified that this time she would not be able to keep them back.

She didn't' dare look towards the doorway, where she was sure Giles stood astonished, blinking several times in stunned bewilderment at what he had heard. In all the time he had known her, Giles had never once seen Faith cry. And if she had anything to say about it, he was not about to fucking see it today.

Faith wanted to tell him again to go, to fuck off, to leave her the hell alone if he ever planned to at all. But if she opened her mouth again she had no guarantee of what might come out, and so when she said nothing, she heard Giles step hesitantly into the room in several strides, stopping a distance away from her.

"Faith?" he asked quietly, the stunned tone of his voice clearly distinguishable even as she tried not to hear him at all. "Faith, are you…are you crying?"

She hadn't been, exactly. But that simple question, asked in such a soft tone, was enough to release the tears that had until then been still standing safely locked behind her eyes, and Faith could have gladly hurt herself for letting them out, even in the silent manner that they emerged.

She pulled the hood of her hoody over her head with a jerky, angry lack of coordination, her hands shaking slightly in an effort to shield even her profile from Giles's view, but especially the tears that so clearly answered his startled question. She didn't wipe them away, for to do so would be to admit that they existed, and if Giles wasn't certain now, she sure as hell wasn't about to remove all doubt.

Fuck, fuck, FUCK, why the fuck couldn't he just go?

"Shut up," she ground out in lieu of a reply, but even to her own ears her voiced sounded choked. As tears continued to make their way down her cheeks and chin, dripping into her hair, she fought to no avail to stop them without acknowledging them in any way. She was not successful. In fact, the more ferociously she instructed herself to stop, the faster new tears seemed to come, and it was a whole new battle to keep them silent as well.

She could hear Giles stepping closer now, only a few feet away from her, no doubt not knowing how to proceed. If she was Buffy, he no doubt would know exactly what to do…but then, if she was Buffy, there was no way in hell Giles would ever be fucking leaving.

"Faith," he said slowly, not quite near enough to touch her, but almost. "Faith, why are you…tell me what's wrong, please."

"What's WRONG?" Faith sputtered a disbelieving laugh that held no humor, her voice rising. "What's wrong, did you seriously just ask me what's WRONG? Have you been conscious for the past few weeks when we had fucking BOMB blow up our building, kill off half the people who lived here, and spread a blood-spewing virus through the other half that fucking killed them off in the most literal bloodbath was possible? And now you're just off to fucking Mary Poppins land leaving me in the fucking house of mass destruction, and then you want to ask me what is WRONG!" she shook her head roughly, barking out a second sharp laugh that almost sounded like choking. "Just go, Giles. You said you're fucking going, just go, okay?"

She grabbed the front of her hood and yanked it further forward as much as possible in her continued effort to attempt to conceal her face from him; even if Giles knew she was crying, she didn't want him to SEE it. But he was still standing there. She could sense him even if she couldn't see him, and his stumbling reply displayed his ambivalence.

"Faith…I can't just leave like…when you…you are so…"

He stopped, clearly searching for the most accurate yet inoffensive way to word himself, and Faith wasted no time in providing him with a response that she was sure was on his mind, if not what he had intended to say aloud.

"You can't go like what? Like a fucking traitor, a fucking coward? You can't go when I'm WHAT, pissed off, UPSET, fucking CRYING, is that it, you can do whatever you want as long as you don't' have physical evidence that yeah, shit happened, that just because you don't see it doesn't' mean it's all fucking dandy, is that why you can't go, Giles? Because if Faith doesn't wave and smile and say pip pip mate or whatever you people do to say goodbye, then it makes you actually think about what the fuck you're doing, but otherwise it's fucking fine?"

She stopped, her chest hitching, and took in a deep breath, shutting her eyes as tightly as she could in an attempt to stop her tears, but still a few managed to squeeze past her lids. Faith could feel her nose threatening to run as well, and she sniffed hard in an attempt to stave it off as she spoke again.

"Well you still don't see shit, Giles, I'm looking at a fucking wall just for you, so you can still say all's NOT WRONG in your little Giles world, so just fucking go."

Damn thing about Giles though…the moment he thought Faith might be crying and it might be somehow connected to his taking off, she knew damn well his sense of duty, or at least his sense of guilt, wouldn't' let him go on like he no doubted wanted to until he thought it was "okay" for him to. The minute Faith had opened her mouth she had doomed herself to his reluctant pressing, and no doubt to ending up saying a lot of things out of anger, frustration, and other strong emotions that she had never wanted or intended for Giles to hear.

"Faith," he said quietly, not moving any closer from what she could hear- because he was probably afraid how she might break some body part if he got too close, she thought bitterly, and if that were true, it was probably a wise decision on his part, because she couldn't guarantee she wouldn't.

"Don't Faith me," she almost growled, shaking her head vehemently and almost causing her hood to fall off as a result. As it was she felt it slip dangerously but didn't bother fixing it. "I said to fucking go, am I doing anything to stop you? Am I trying to hold you back? I said go, that's my official fucking command, okay? Go catch your fucking plane."

Most men at this point would start to get angry too, start yelling back, if nothing else. Some men would take her at face value and go, whether or not they thought it was what she wanted. Some men would start getting defensive and listing like a lawyer all the ways that Faith was wrong to wait until the hour before they needed to be on a plane before spelling out what she thought about them leaving. But even back when she was just a kid Faith had figured out that Giles wasn't like most men, and he did none of the things that most men would do.

Instead he took two slow steps forward, very likely risking life and limb for all he knew, and lightly rested his hand between her shoulderblades. Faith's already rigid back jerked, and her head swiveled to look at him so rapidly that her hood fell off entirely, but she was too focused on Giles's hand on her back to be able to simultaneously care that he was now also looking at her face. As she looked at him for the first time, she saw the furrow of his brow, the uneasy yet strong concern in his eyes, but also the near helpless uncertainty tensing his expression.

The dark shadows beneath his eyes seemed particularly stark and obvious in the room's lighting, and the lines marring the corners of his eyes, his brow, and near his mouth seemed particularly pronounced. He looked tired beyond description, and though Faith had always thought of Giles as old from the day she met him, the past few weeks had emphasized his aging to the point that he looked at least fifteen years older than the actual age she estimated him to be.

"Faith," he began, and the weariness was in his voice as well as he met her eyes, exhaling in a slow, controlled breath. "I didn't know…I was not aware that you…"

"Don't touch me," her voice rose sharply, and she jerked her chair a few inches away, angered that the fierceness in her tone was significantly diluted by her continued struggle to try to banish the tears still occasionally emerging from her eyes. "Don't touch me, Giles, and don't start telling me about what you didn't KNOW, you never know shit! For someone who's supposed to be so damn smart, you just never think, do you? What, you didn't KNOW, you think I wouldn't give a damn if the last person left of this place, the last person I know on this PLANET just takes off and leaves too, just a couple of fucking days after every person I know had fucking left too? You don't KNOW that most people can't just watch fifty people fucking die and then be perfectly fucking cool with the one person who didn't fucking pissing himself to be able to take off too? That the second no one else is there all you want to do is take off and make sure you never have to look at me again? You think, you don't KNOW that maybe someone would give a shit about all that? Well you're fucking right, Giles, I don't give a shit, so GO!"

She cut herself off before another sob could break out, sucking her breath in sharply, and sniffed hard, starting to turn back to face the wall, face flushed, heartbeat thudding almost beyond control. Giles didn't' try to touch her again, but he also didn't back away. She could still feel him standing over her, his discomfort practically tangible as he attempted to decide his best course of action.

"Faith…that isn't…it's not that I wish to leave you, per say," he began, and Faith made a loud noise of disbelief, shaking her head roughly.

"And that's why you're on a plane to England, right? Don't give me that bullshit about not wanting to leave me, because if it was anyone else, you would fucking stay."

Her words hung in the air between them, heavy, accusing, sharp with dissent, and both were silent as Faith took in another deep breath, finally swiping at her face in a jerky, angry gesture without turning back towards him. She attempted again to focus on evening out her breaths, on controlling her tears, and was met with only success, just before Giles spoke, his voice more strained than ever.

"Faith…it's not…you are wrong, it's not about…my leaving, it's not about you. I just…you must understand, I just…I just need to go. I…I cannot stay here, in this building, in this city, this country…after everything we've seen, all the memories made here…good and bad both…they…all are equally difficult to endure, and…I want no further reminders by seeing anything…anything at all tied to it…any of it. I just…Faith, I cannot stay where any of my memories remain," he said slowly, his voice dropping so low yet intense with growing feeling that he seemed to be almost hissing at her. "I cannot go on for another day with the remnants of what was remaining before my eyes."

The remnants of what was…and that, Faith knew every bit as much as he did, was her. She and he, they were the remnants of what was…it was she he could not stand to look at or be with. It was she whose face brought him nothing but pain. It was she he could not endure, and with this knowledge pain built up strongly within her heart, bursting forth from her in her heated words of retort.

"And that's what I am, isn't it, Giles- a reminder of your past, a nudge towards bad memories, a constant source of grief? I'm something to fucking forget, to run away from just like everything else? You think you can go away and just start over a new life, that nothing of this one will even exist if you just fucking turn your head and move your ass away from it, is that what you think? Well you can't do it, Giles, it's not fucking possible!"

Faith could hear her voice rising, the agitation building in her chest, heating her face and bringing the barely suppressed tears threatening yet again as she abruptly jerked her hair around to face Giles, then abandoned it entirely to stand, head tilted up to meet his gaze full on. Gesturing repeatedly for emphasis, she continued to address him fiercely, her voice growing nearly to a scream.

"You can't leave ANY of it, Giles! No matter how far you go or how much you try not to fucking thing about it, you can't fucking outrun it, you can't just FORGET it or start over, you can't just shove it away, it's a fucking miracle if you even survive it! You can't keep from dreaming it at night and hearing them in the day, no matter how far you go they'll still fucking be there, they'll still fucking follow you, don't you KNOW that? They're fucking IN you now, Giles, just like they're in me, we can't just fucking claw them out of us, they're there and we can't do shit about it, we can't just fucking run away from them because they're THERE! You think I don't want to run away?" she cried, and she was openly yelling now, her face and body very close to his, tears once again streaming down her face even as her voice remained strong, aggressive.

"You think I don't want to leave them all behind? I don't have anywhere to fucking GO, Giles! I don't have anyone or anywhere to run to, there is no one fucking left for me! I can't fucking forget them! You think I don't see their faces all day long, you think I don't hear them screaming and choking and there's nothing I can do to make it better? You think I don't see them every time I close my eyes, you think I don't feel their blood on my hands and their hands on my skin, you think I don't hear them begging me to help them, calling my name, calling me her…her m-mother…"

This was too much, entirely too much to think about, too much to feel all at once, and more by far than she had ever spoken aloud. Faith felt as if everything soft and vulnerable still remaining inside her was being ruthlessly shattered into fragments as she lowered her head, shoulders hunching as sobs overtook her, rattling through her frame so violently she could barely stand, much less form a coherent thought or further words. Even so she tried, elbows hugged tightly against herself as she forced words through a heavy fog of tears.

"I c-can't…I can't leave…there's no one…no one but them….them and me. I'm…I'm the last one left. I'm the f-fucking last one left, and you're…you're…"

She could barely make out Giles's outline through her curtain of hair falling over her bowed face and the intensity of her crying she could not see or analyze his expression. It did not matter…it was not Giles or anything he was doing that Faith could focus on. All she could think about was the strong emotion rolling through her, beyond her ability to control, and she could not see or analyze Giles's own personal struggle in the wake of her breakdown.

It was not any significant space of time before Giles responded…but in that small break before action, the weight of his future rested within his hands. In that brief space of time he wrestled with fear versus knowledge, instinct to preserve himself versus instinct to preserve another, a future set in stone, if alone, versus a future of uncertainty, if with another…and most predominantly, he struggled with his pain. For whatever path he chose, his pain would undoubtedly be part of his baggage.

But the short space of struggle time passed, and Giles stepped forward with slow but determined steps, taking Faith wordlessly into his arms. As her arms came about him, and she grasped him in the desperate manner of someone clinging quite literally to all that remained of her world, Giles lowered his lips to the crown of her head, continuing to hold her close. And in the doorway stood his carefully packed baggage, now rendered unnecessary, forgotten.

They could not outrun their past. But maybe, they could learn to walk beside it, into their future.

.


End file.
